


Our grins are sharper than our knives (and just as deadly)

by Ideasofmarch



Series: Plot ideas i may or may not expand upon ;) [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, BAMF Harry Potter, BAMFs all around really, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Humor, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, i found this in my google drive and then finished it., i practically rewrote canon ngl, no beta we die like men, quarantine is a good excuse to write, well i finished chapter one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ideasofmarch/pseuds/Ideasofmarch
Summary: Harry potter had been twenty nine when the world went to absolute shit.Now Harry liked to argue that being the boy-who-lived didn’t make him anything special, not really – that he was just like anyone else. But that’s a load of hippogriff dung because thanks to that nifty little title Harry had been raised for battle.-0-Or, Harry and his family fight tooth and nail to survive the apocalypse and stay together.
Relationships: Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Series: Plot ideas i may or may not expand upon ;) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733980
Comments: 38
Kudos: 171





	1. A bit of backstory's always nice

**Author's Note:**

> Hey ya'll.  
> Look i know i should probably be updating the other two before starting a whole new fic. But the idea won't leave me alone. I found this old fic when i was clearing out my computer so really the idea found ME. Blame my past self for not finishing this a year ago. I will update the other ones, pinky promise. But for now, please do enjoy this very self indulgent wizarding world/walking dead mashup !!  
> With love,  
> IdeasOfMarch

Harry potter had been twenty nine when the world went to absolute shit.

Now Harry liked to argue that being the boy-who-lived didn’t make him anything special, not really – that he was just like anyone else. But that’s a load of hippogriff dung because thanks to _that_ nifty little title Harry had been _raised_ for battle.

He’d spent the primary years of his life slaving away, learning a truly unhealthy amount of cunning as a necessity to his survival. Oh yes, while he hated the Dursleys – and Merlin, did he _hate_ them – living in that hell scape taught him how to be quiet; the deathly kind of silent that was almost too empty to be comfortable.

Then, whisked away to a magical land where he was some long lost hero, Harry’d had to remind himself almost hourly not to take it all in at face value. He wanted to – he wanted to be loved, and special, and _noticed_. But it was all too easy, the events falling in line like an old jigsaw puzzle. Back then he was young, smart as a whip but no where close to wise, he couldn’t allow himself to act rashly.

So he’d waited, played the game. He’d allowed himself to be strung like a marionette, keeping a diligent eye on the puppeteer’s smug grin all the while, and made his first kill at eleven.

That one, he’ll admit, was an accident – but it wasn’t like the bastard hadn’t deserved it anyway. Quirrell had tried to kill _him_ first.

It all really clicked after they saved Sirius, as they watched him fly away on Buckbeak Harry’d had somewhat of a eureka moment.

Dumbledore. The supposed most powerful wizard alive, who held unprecedented political sway, and had a virtual army at his beck and call. Dumbledore. Who could push back practically any law he wanted, who was the only person Voldemort was afraid of.

Dumbledore.

Who for some reason couldn’t get his godfather a fair trial.

Yeah fucking right.

He threw himself into research then, laws and policies and culture and other such topics. He’d gone to Hermione first, asked subtle questions – which she brushed off – and then asked some not so subtle questions – which resulted in a rant about how he should have more faith in Dumbledore and not buy into the whole pureblood manifesto.

Harry stopped going to Hermione for help.

Oddly enough, in the far corners of the library where the shadows were more prevalent than the glow of a torch and his Gryffindor companions refused to venture, Harry had made some real friends.

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends_ ,

The sorting hat _had_ warned him.

Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, and – most shocking of all – Pansy Parkinson had somehow become his closest confidants. Pansy, of course, couldn’t be seen in public with him – the issues of keeping ones status as heiress, you understand – but Blaise and Theo had no such obligation. Blaise’s mum didn’t give a whit on which side of the war her son was on, so long as he survived it, and Theo’s grandfather was practically senile.

People became worried. Well, Gryffindor’s. Gryffindor’s became worried.

They treated him like a pariah, chittering and chattering about how Potter had gone Dark and such.

They weren’t completely wrong.

Thanks to his research, and three lovely pure-blooded friends, he knew that, if Dumbledore wanted to, he could have Sirius out of prison like that. And that begged the question: Why didn’t Dumbledore, the scion of the light, want to free an innocent man from prison?

It was Pansy who figured it out.

“Well it’s simple, isn’t it?” She’d said, chin propped on manicured hands.

“What is?” The three boys turned to her.

“He’s _using_ you, darling. You are a literal Hero – people would give their lives if you asked. That’s someone Dumbledore would want to keep under control. _You_ , my dear Harry, are _powerful_ – and if he controls you, then so is he.”

“Isn’t Dumbledore’s whole thing how he doesn’t desire power.”

She scoffed, “Yes, spare me his whole ‘I turned down minister of magic’ spiel. The man holds, like, six titles; including but not limited to Headmaster of the largest magical school this side of the pond, head of the ICW, _and_ chief warlock. That’s a lot of important positions for someone who despises power mongering.”

“Huh.” He’d said.

“And,” She’d added, “having you raised by Sirius Black, a known rebel and heir to a dark family, would just be counter productive to his plans. Raised as you were, you’d ignorant of our world and easily mouldable. He just didn’t count on the hyper paranoia ruining his plot.”

And with that Harry had looked up from the chessboard. He’d seen Dumbledore, sitting next to the board and playing both sides, choosing who died and who suffered, betraying his own followers as easily as he did his enemies.

But Dumbledore, so focused on his game, hadn’t noticed the green eyed king looking up at him.

The Triwizard tournament came and went, and Harry had tackled Cedric Diggory to the ground the second they’d heard a voice, the sickly green spell shooting overhead. Pettigrew was stupid, he mistook Cedric’s concussed form as dead and carried on with his plan to revive his master, and Voldemort was too weak to tell him otherwise.

When Voldemort let him go – and Harry still couldn’t believe someone so stupid could have gotten so far – Harry hadn’t wasted time on disarming. He’d thrown around cutting curses like nobody’s business, feigning bad aim the whole while – he had excellent aim, and that spell was _meant_ to catch Parkinson Sr. in the neck.

Voldemort started with the Avada Kedavras, smirking because he thought Harry, poster boy for the light, wouldn’t dare retaliate. He was so wrong Harry almost giggled. By the end of it the only Death eaters still breathing were the ones who had hidden behind tombstones ( a grand total of Lucius Malfoy and Crabbe Sr.) and Voldemort himself.

Dramatic bastard he was, Voldemort started monologuing. Harry took the time to inch closer to the port key and a conveniently close Cedric. Then, and Harry almost gave himself away by trying to contain his giggles, Voldemort turned his back to him and spread his arms. He’d sprinted to the cup and grabbed Cedric, they were gone before the mad lizard man had even turned around.

A quick wand history erasing spell – one he’d learned from Blaise, who’d learned it from step-father No.4 – and a little feigned hysterics and the press was eating out of his hands. He’d all but fallen, very dramatically might he add, into Rita Skeeters arms – promising her his memory of the night.

He’d only given her the bit where Voldemort was resurrected, of course, and the bit where he’d saved Cedric – that made him look good.

In the end the story had gotten out, no one could dispute Harrys fresh memories and the sudden drop in Pure-blooded socialites. Harry had spun a tale of Voldemort killing his disloyal followers, and the spells on his wand (a combination of low levelled jinxes and expelliarmus that he’d added on) matched up with his story, so it only served as further proof that a. Voldemort was back and b. he was a physco you did _not_ want to associate with.

Pansy had hugged him that night in the library.

“ _Thank_ _you_.” She’d cried, “thank you _so_ much.”

“He deserved it, Pans.” Harry had hugged her just as tight, “Nobody tries to sell _my_ friend’s hand for a fucking business deal and gets away with it.”

Fifth year passed without incident, much to Dumbledore’s badly hidden displeasure and Harrys much better concealed delight. He’d heard from Theo that Dumbledore had tried to get some staunchy ministry nut as DADA professor.

Sixth year.

Now that had been an interesting one. Dumbledore had tried to win his favour by suddenly treating him like a trusted confidant. Harry had reacted just as he was supposed to, hesitant at first but overwhelmingly happy about the whole situation. And he was happy, honest, because Dumbledore believed that Harry was firmly in his grasp and that meant that he had Dumbledore right where he wanted him.

That night on the astronomy tower, under the safe cover of the third deathly hallow, Harry had smiled. Not his Gryffindor golden boy grin, but the vicious, deadly smirk he’d kept safely under wraps for the better part of six years. Draco had come onto the platform, and the poor boy had looked so confused when Harry shot a stunner at him.

Dumbledore looked confused too, he was sure he’d hit Harry with a stunner. Harry’d rolled his eyes, that had been all too easy to dodge.

Harry’d locked the door and laughed when he’d heard the sound of several bodies hitting the wood.

“Harry, my boy. What is the meaning of this?” Dumbledore had roared, the seemingly ever-present twinkle in his eyes missing in action.

“I honestly didn’t think it would be this easy,” Harry giggled, perhaps a bit unhinged.

“What’s easy.”

“Why, killing you, of course.” Harry smiled when Dumbledore raised his wand, a quick expelliarmus later and the old man was relieved of it. “Lookie lookie, Headmaster. Two out of three makes me closer to master of death than, well, just about anyone – _ever_.”

“How did you…”

“I’ve been researching since third year.” He’d deadpanned, “Surely you didn’t miss your favourite pawn deviating from the game.” Harry pouted at Dumbledore.

The old man gasped and looked horrified , “You’ve gone dark.”

“Yep.” He said, popping the ‘P’, “And _you’ve_ orchestrated your own death” Harry clapped his hands together, “How useful.”

“I-I…”

“Yes, you knew you were going to die tonight.” He took one step forward, Dumbledore took one step back, “you just didn’t think it would be by my hand.”

“My boy,” Dumbledore had tried, “You don’t have to do this, whatever Voldemort promised you – it is a lie.”

Harry’d snorted, “Oh don’t worry, I’m going to kill him too.”

“What –?”

“Good bye.”

Harry hadn’t even used magic. He’d walked right up to Dumbledore and pushed him off the edge, leaning over and smirking as watery blue eyes met electric green. And finally, the chess master had blinked awake only to see his precious board lying broken at his feet, Harry sat proudly on a throne with the enemy king backed into a corner.

The cloak had gone back up the second the death eaters had broken the spell on the door. Harry slipped out the door as they revived Draco and puzzled over who – or what? – killed Dumbledore.

Too easy.

The war was, well it was a war.

It was messy and bloody – and a lot of good people died. Despite what you might think, Harry still cared for the innocent. He was blood thirsty and ruthless, make no mistake, but only for those who had wronged him. Dumbledore had tried to control his life, Harry had ended his. Parkinson Sr. had tried to sell Pansy’s hand in marriage for access to an ancient estate, Harry’d sliced his neck open. Hermione and Ron had tried to manipulate him into following the old coot, he’d left them high and dry to fend for themselves – if they died it was their own problem.

Voldemort had killed his parents, soon he’d destroy the bastard too.

And, Merlin, for the supposed greatest dark lord in history, it was pitifully easy to collect all the soul pieces. The hardest bit was sneaking in to Gringotts, which wasn’t even _that_ hard because the second they entered the bank they were off limits. With Sirius as Lord Black Bellatrix was quickly disowned and her vaults repossessed – the cup was theirs in a matter of hours.

Harry had cackled, _actually cackled_ , when he’d received an item Dumbledore’s will. He’d felt the last hollow, buried inside that snitch, and brought out a jack hammer immediately. Sure, there was probably some magical riddle to get to the stone but, as Theo said, just cracking it open was not only efficient, it was one last ‘Fuck You!’ to Dumbledore.

The snitch crumbling felt almost poetic.

And so, armed with all three hallows, the master of Death walked into the forbidden forest with a smirk. Theo, Blaise, and Pansy at his back, surrounded by a thick layer of protective magic. The four cut down any Death eater in their path, twirling and rotating and watching each-other’s backs.

In the end Voldemort died alone. His followers laying dead at his feet and his mortality startlingly apparent.

“It’s sad, you know?”

“What is, Potter?” He’d still spat the word venomously, like he still had fangs to bite with.

“What you were.” Harry’d sighed, “What you’ve become. You had so much potential, you were a genius, a visionary. You could have changed the world.”

Harry sighed again and shook his head.

“And instead you descended to madness. Truly a pitiful, fitting end for someone like you.”

“Why you little –“

“Avada Kedavra.”

Voldemort fell like a man.

His body hitting the ground no different from the dozens of death eaters that had fallen before him. All the faces obscured by blood and dirt and pale masks, none of them remarkable, each one indistinguishable from another.

Yeah.

A fitting end for all of them.

“What now?” Pansy had asked, placing her head on Blaise’s shoulder.

“help me with this.” He’d answered. Grabbing the nearest death eater and slashing at their arm with his knife where the faded dark mark sat. “Make it look like this is what killed them.”

Blaise’d grinned, “I do so _love_ a cover up.”

“You would,” Theo snorted, laughing fully when Blaise shoved him for the comment.

No one questioned it. Every marked follower was found dead with butchered forearms, it was easy to draw the conclusion that Voldemort’s death had triggered a mass killing of his loyal followers. And any marked follower who hadn’t been killed used it as an excuse to claim that they weren’t really followers – that Voldemort only took those who truly believed in his cause.

And so just like that it was over.

Harry, Theo, Pansy, and Blaise were hailed as war heroes. Sirius was acquitted. Harry found out the total body count, he cried when he found out Colin and Fred had died, sobbed when he found out about Remus. Three weeks later Hermione and Ron were found in the dungeons of Malfoy manor, Harry was a little miffed they’d been found at all.

Blaise proposed to Pansy and they tasked Harry and Madame Zabini with planning the wedding. It was, quite possibly, the most extravagant event of the millennia. Anyone who was anyone wanted to be there, and Blaise and Pansy, being who they were, used it to show the wizarding world just what some of the most celebrated war heroes believed in.

The prophet was littered for weeks about the tantrum Ginevra Weasley had thrown upon being denied entrance.

Pansy took control of the Parkinson family, Blaise became her consort. Theo took up the Nott Lordship and Harry took up the mantle of Lord Peverell, the master of Death. Harry and Theo moved into one of the Peverell’s more modest Manor’s because their respective family homes were far too big and lonely and cold.

Sirius, Harry, and Andromeda took turns taking care of Teddy.

Harry and Theo fell in love.

That had been the most surprising thing to ever happen to Harry – _including_ the whole ‘yer a wizard’ thing. They’d been friends since they were thirteen, and that had been all. Harry and Theo, Theo and Harry. Never one without the other. They’d never fought – disagreements, sure, debates, definitely – but they’d never really _fought_. It had just always seemed like they were on the same frequency and yet total opposites.

Harry was the reckless to Theo’s calculating calm, Theo was the sanity to Harrys madness. Two sides of the same sickle.

Maybe it wasn’t that surprising after all.

Pansy and Blaise hadn’t been surprised – they’d actually been shocked that the relationship was _new_.

They got married at age twenty three – a private ceremony that was nothing at all like Pansy and Blaise’s. Blood adopted two little girls, sisters – one eight and the other six – named Elaine and Dianna, a year later and, two years after that, with permission from Andromeda, they adopted Teddy too.

Life was actually, seriously good.

Right up until 2010.

When the world went to shit.

They didn’t even really register the world ending, not at first. Nobody really _expects_ zombies. Especially not witches and wizards who thought inferni were as bad as it got. But zombies they were. Straight out of a muggle horror movie no less.

Harry hadn’t hesitated when the American ministry had reached out for help.

It had been early days, then. People were turning up rabid and giving everyone they came in to contact with a killer fever – literally. They hadn’t realised that people were actually dead, they were dead and they were _walking_.

Besides, the girls and Teddy were all safe in Hogwarts. The school was impenetrable – especially with all the extra wards placed on it after the war. Theo was neck deep in work at St. Mungo’s, so much so that they had the healer interns working full hours instead of the usual half days.

And, no matter how much he despised Hermione, she’d been right about one thing. He _did_ have a saving people thing.

He’d grabbed his bottomless satchel – Blaise had specially charmed one for each of them during the war – filled it with food and potions, kissed Theo goodbye and then Floo’d to MACUSA. They’d put him to work immediately, placing him in charge of a battalion.

It was supposed to be a month, if that. Just a clean up that needed a few more hands then usual.

But it set in very quickly that the world was well and truly over as soon as they received word the, effective immediately, the statue of secrecy had been rescinded. Theo sent him a letter about two months in, telling him that Hogwarts had gone into full lockdown mode – nothing in, nothing out – and that he’d be making his way over to America as soon as possible.

Then the floo network collapsed.

Elaine Potter was fifteen when the world came crumbling down – and she was _frustrated_.

An itchy sensation curling up her spine, reaching further and further with every day she was forced to spend pretending everything was all right.

Her dad was trapped in America and her Father was stranded outside the castle. Owls refused to leave with letters and the floo powder did nothing put briefly lighten the orange flames. The castle had been placed under lockdown. Meaning they were safe. Meaning nothing could get them. Meaning no contact with the outside world.

Oh, and _dead_ _people_ were walking. A throng of the dead had congregated outside the ward boundaries. Moaning and groaning, slamming into the shield like they knew what lay inside. Elaine found herself watching them every other day, so much so that she could recognise enough of them to note when new ones showed up and how much each had decayed since.

 _Nothing_ was all right and if one more of her professors told her to calm down she was going to have a meltdown.

She wasn’t the only one either. It was almost palpable, the anxiety and stress and worry, it plagued near every student in the castle. And Elaine could _feel_ it. A trait she’d acquired when her dad had blood adopted her.

Useful for reading the room and manipulating people, not so useful when everyone was feeling the same thing and broadcasting it very loudly in her direction. Her dad hadn’t even been aware he was an empath when he’d mastered the ability, Elaine was not so lucky.

She was still learning, technically, and the end of the world had been nothing but a headache so far.

“Hey Lainey,” Teddy swung an arm around her shoulders. He’d found her in her favourite reading nook, which was fine, she hadn’t been hiding – just resting.

“You doing okay? With all the stress in the air?” He asked. Elaine shoved her head into his shoulder. Her brother, almost as a consequence of growing up alongside her, had learned how to control his emotions. Meaning he was just about the only other person, aside from Dianna and Aunt Luna, that Elaine could seek comfort in. That she could relax into without accidentally giving herself a headache.

“I’m fine.” The redness of her eyes told a different story, “It’s no different to the last five exam seasons.”

That was a lie. It was _so_ much worse than exam stress.

Teddy tilted his head, making his floppy blue hair fall into his face, “Sure.”

They sat quietly for a moment.

“Do you think Dad and Father are all right?”

“They’re fine, Teddy.” Elaine said softly, “They’re war heroes, right? I’m sure aunty Pans and uncle Blaise are fine too.”

“But Dad’s in _America_.”

“Father is probably with aunty Pans and Uncle Blaise right now, and they’ll be trying to get to Dad.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“What are you two doing?” Dianna poked her head around the corner and walked up to her siblings. Elaine should have known.

Dianna and Teddy were closer in age than either were to Elaine. Even if Teddy was in the older quadrant of the second years and Dianna in the younger, they'd practically been raised as twins. They were never really one without the other.

Elaine sighed, “Just talking.”

“What about?”

“Dad and Father. Don't pretend you weren't listening.”

Her sister smiled sheepishly, brushing a lock of inky black hair out of her face, "I couldn't hear, you guys were too quiet.“

Another moment passed.

"Do you think -"

“They’ll be fine, Di.” She said, “just fine.”

Theodore Nott was thirty years old when the dead started coming back independent of a magical incantation.

It had been three months since the start of it all. His children were safe, thank Merlin, but the trade off for that, it seemed, was that his husband was suck on the other side of the world.

Theo had been stuck in St. Mungo’s for the better part of those three months, trying his best to help the flood of patients. It took them far too long to realize there was no cure, the infected would turn unless that limb was removed immediately, Merlin help them if they were bit on the torso. By the time it became clear that the hypocritic oath was null and void the hospital had been overthrowned by the undead.

And by then it was too late to take a floo to his husband, so Theo had hunkered down with his two closest friends.

Blaise and Pansy sat beside him, the three of them once again camped out in the middle of the forest of Dean, planning a rescue mission. Only this time they weren’t on their way to save Harry’s barmy friend Luna but Harry himself.

The tent was comfortable, warm and roomy and safe, they could almost pretend everything was normal. Theo could almost imagine that Harry had simply stepped outside for a moment, that he’d be back any second now, and that he’d come curl into Theo’s arms the second he returned.

“So, brooms are out.”

And then Pansy spoke and the beautiful illusion was disparaged.

“Yes,” He said, coughing a little when his voice came out hoarse, “The charms will never hold over the ocean. Thestrals?”

Blaise shook his head, “Too finicky. They won’t listen to a thing we say, not without Harry or Luna here to talk them into it.”

“It is _such_ trouble when the one with all the useful abilities is the one in need of saving.” Pansy said.

Theo snorted, “Isn’t it just?”

“Well then,” Pansy said, “Any idea where Lovegood is?”

“Luna’s in Hogwarts, darling. She’s been the divination teacher for the last five years.”

“I forgot about that.”

“Anyway,” Theo said, “What about portkeys?”

“We’d be going in blind, mate.”

Pansy nodded at Blaise, “Same reason apparition is out.”

Theo groaned, “What then? Do we need to steal a fucking boat?”

Pansy and Blaise paused.

“No.” Theo said, “No we are not stealing a boat.”

“It’s not a terrible idea.” Blaise said slowly.

“Not one of us knows how to sail.”

“We can learn.” He countered.

“ _When_?”

Pansy waved a hand at him, “We can just enchant the boat to work.”

“I’m sorry,” Theo said, “Do you just happen to know a sailing spell?”

“Yes.”

“Exac – did you just say _yes_?”

Pansy rolled her eyes, “Remember fourth year. The student who manned the boat, Daria was her name, I think. She taught me.”

Theo and Blaise blinked at her.

“What?”

“Just – nothing, Pans.” Theo shook his head, “Fine. We’re stealing a boat.”

“And a map,” Blaise added.

“A boat and a map.” He confirmed.

“Great,” Pansy smiled, “Now where do we get a boat?”


	2. All the Potters are very tired and that is valid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry rescues a stubborn man on a roof, Theo deals with the perils of traveling by boat, and Elaine has a headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll,
> 
> So i could either study for my exams or do this. guess which one i picked hehe.  
> Anyway while I was writing this i go half way through writing an entirely new fic and also a sequel to another one of my fics, evidently, i am going through it.  
> Thank you to everyone who reads this, love u guys <33
> 
> IdeasOfMarch.

“ _ Jesus Christ _ !”

“Not quite.”

Harry had been minding his own business, as much as one could during the actual zombie apocalypse, anyway, when he heard the commotion. A group of people, as mismatched as a group could possibly be, arguing on a rooftop.

Harry had been perched on the roof of the adjacent building, just about to apparate onto the occupied one, when he saw them.

The roads were covered with the undead as far as the eye could see. Probably attracted by the blaring siren that someone had foolishly set off. Harry scoffed. Two men, one black guy and a tall white man, were at each other's throats. The white guy got the upper hand, snatching a gun and holding it against the other man's head.

Harry watched this happen with the kind of detached exasperation he’d developed sometime in his fourth year, the kind that had unnerved the rest of his fellow lions to no end. It had been a necessity, by then. He’d either force himself to become desensitized to near death situations or he’d have been placed in St Mungos before he reached his majority.

Nobody made a move to help the black man, not when they were scuffling and not when the white guy stood triumphant with the gun.

These people were going to get themselves killed.

Just then another white man bursts through the door to the roof, hits the first white guy with the but of his rifle and quickly handcuffs him to a pipe.  _ Good form,  _ Harry noted _.  _ Whatever else he thought of these people, he knew how to appreciate the result of hard work and training.

The guy was giving a speech of some sort, all the other people were listening to him in any case. Harry wasn’t close enough to hear the words, but he could see the admiration and the seeds of hero worship on the group's faces.

The group wasn’t by any means big, but they were large enough that they’d probably be fine on their own. 

Harry was about to apparate away when the group started leaving.

The handcuffed guy was screaming, all but begging them to uncuff him. The black guy stumbled over, dropping his toolbag and something small and shiny that Harry knew instinctively was the key to the cuffs.

And oh.

Oh dear.

They were just going to leave that man, cuffed to a pipe on a roof, in the Georgian summer, with zombies beating at the door.

Granted, the man seemed to be a bit of a dick, but the least they could have done was at least  _ attempt _ to hack away at the cuffs.

Harry waited until everyone else had left. Because he could recognise well enough when he’d be shot on sight, and the way everyone had automatically deferred to white guy number two did  _ not _ bode well - that line of behaviour hit a little too close to home for him. But he couldn’t just as well  _ leave _ the handcuffed man - not at least until he’d properly seen what he’d done to deserve it.

So he’d popped over, almost giving the handcuffed man a heart attack in the process.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man said, huffing slightly and clutching his heart with his free hand.

“Harry Potter,” Harry said slowly, walking closer, “but the question you really should be asking is: am I going to let you go?”

The man, however surprised he was at Harry’s apparition, seemed to have quickly recovered, snarling at him with an unimpressed look in his eyes.

“Well, are ya?”

The man didn’t beg. Didn’t show any sign of weakness despite the rattling groans on the other side of the rooftop door.

Despite himself, Harry grinned and it was just this side of unhinged, “Depends, mate. What did you do?”

The man scoffed, “What gives you the right to judge me?”

“Nothing, I suppose.” He shrugged, “but I rarely feel the need to justify such things to myself, and I’ve killed people for less than holding a gun to my head.”

Harry could feel the contempt radiating off the man in waves, along with a faint undercurrent of fear and anxiety. He’d become adept at reading those specific emotions without even trying, the side effect of fighting in a war where everybody was feeling it to some extent.

The man growled and Harry rolled his eyes.

“Look at me.”

The command in his voice was as such that the man responded on instinct -  _ must have been a soldier of some sort _ , Harry thought. The second their eyes met Harry cast a wandless  _ legilimens, _ browsing quickly through the mess that was the man’s - Merle Dixon’s - mind.

Merle, Harry soon discovered,  _ was _ a bit of dick. 

He spouted prejudiced hate he didn’t believe just to get a reaction, stole and cheated when it suited him, lied when he could get away with it. He’d been a marine, dishonorably discharged - though, Harry had seen the memory, Merle’s SO had  _ deserved _ that punch - with a shit childhood and a shittier adulthood. He wasn’t by any means a good person.

But he loved his brother.

Harry could see that well enough, it was reflected in almost every corner of Merle’s mind. He loved Daryl Dixon like Harry loved his children, fierce and all consuming - irrationally and completely. 

Mind made up, Harry allowed his grip on the Man’s mind to loosen.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Merle tore his gaze away from Harry’s barely three seconds after he’d cast the spell. It didn’t matter. A proper legilimens could extract hours worth of memories in a fraction of a second.

“Checking to see if you’re worth it.”

“Don’t fucking do it again.” He spat.

Harry flicked his wrist, casually unlocking the handcuffs. “I won’t promise you that.”

“Bastard.”

“I get that alot.” Harry said cheerily, fishing out a specific potion from his satchel, “Here, drink this.”

Merle eyed the vial dubiously, “What is it?”

“Just a little something to help with your drug addiction.”

“I’m  _ fine _ .” he batted Harry’s hand away with a growl, “Let’s get outta here.”

“Dixon,” Harry said, voice dipping into that territory right between frightening and dangerous. The man did not ask how Harry knew his name. “You  _ will _ take this potion, and every subsequent one until you are no longer dependent on those chemicals.”

“And if I say no?” The other man's voice was laced with challenge, too bad for him, Harry had faced much meaner,  _ much _ scarier opponents, and he’d done it at age twelve with a  _ smile _ .

“If you say no,” Harry stalked forward, tilting his head just slightly to the right. “I will throw you over this rooftop and watch as those zombies devour your innards. Your choice.”

Merle gulped, not doubting for a moment that the strange man could, and would, throw him over the edge if pressed.

“I’ll take the drink.”

Harry clapped him on the shoulder, handing him the vail, “Good decision.”

Merle took it like a shot, and Harry delighted in the disgust clearly visible on his face.

“That was terrible.”

“Oh, it’s about to get worse.”

“What?” 

Harry didn’t bother answering, because Merle passed out seconds later. The detox potion was an incredibly potent and a well known, if rather hard to acquire, tranquilizer. It did its job by purging the body of any and all forgeign substances, as well as altering damaged cells to reverse dependency.

There was a lengthier, more accurate, explanation to the effects of the potion. But The details of his husband's speech had faded over the months, and Harry could only really recall the basics and the way Theo had lit up when he handed Harry the finished batch.

Harry grabbed onto Merle’s shoulder.

He’d seen the quarry clear as day in the other man’s memory, he’d be able to apparate in without issue and they’d arrive well before the group that had left Merle. He had two options now: one, he could drop Merle off and apparate away, leaving the group to their fate. Or, option two, Harry could stay and help them.

From what he’d seen of them, the group was doomed to failure. They’d allowed some over-confident prick to take charge, and said prick had delegated himself their protector, sort of - he was mostly just sitting atop a truck and barking instructions at people. 

It could be said that Harry was less than impressed. 

He was sorely,  _ sorely _ tempted to go with the first option but… they had children.

Harry sighed, this was going to be a headache.

  
  


Theo was not having a good day.

Scratch that, he wasn’t having a good week, month,  _ year _ . To review, his children were trapped in a magical castle, his husband was trapped in fucking America, of all places, and oh yeah, the  _ dead _ were walking.

To top it all off, like rotten icing on a very rancid cake, he had very recently discovered that sea sickness was something he was  _ extremely _ susceptible to.

“I hate you both.”

Pansy and Blaise didn’t even bat an eyelash at his weak glare. 

The both of them had faced absolutely no adverse effects once they’d set upon the open seas. Pansy, in fact, seemed to take to the wobbly motions of the boat like a duck to water. He found himself wondering daily whether she’d been a pirate in a past life. He could imagine it, honestly, Pans would rock a flowy shirt, and Merlin knew how much that girl adored a good sword. 

Meanwhile Theo couldn’t seem to keep any of his food down for more than an hour. 

And no matter how many stomach soothing potions he took, he always ended up spewing his last meal all over the side of their boat.

Their  _ stolen _ boat.

Hopefully the muggle who owned it wouldn’t be  _ too _ upset with the loss, if they were even still alive enough to care.

“Just another week, Theo.” Pansy patted his head gently, “Once we reach shore, Oscar will be able to find Harry.”

From his perch, Oscar chirped in confirmation. Theo tried not to resent Pansy’s owl for being perfectly fine with the rocking of the waves.

Theo didn’t want another week of this bullshit. They’d been at sea for three weeks, headed straight for Georgia. Before leaving they’d used an obscure blood ritual to locate Harry, the closest they’d gotten was the state of Georgia. That was almost a month ago. Theo just prayed his husband had the good sense to stay in one place.

He thought about that for a moment and groaned.

Harry was many things, but everyone knew that Theo held the common sense in their relationship.

From the moment they’d met, properly at least, Theo had found himself tasked with keeping the supposed boy-who-lived from offing himself through sheer stupidity. Harry had been sweet, as a child. Kind and hopeful and perpetually a little sad. He’d been all too eager, in Theo’s humble opinion, to throw himself to the wolves if it would earn him some affection. 

It was almost funny, how Harry still thought he’d been truly hardened as a child. Theo still remembered watching that scrawny little thirteen-year old boy, trying desperately to pretend he didn’t crave the approval of his peers.

Thankfully, time spent with the snakes had brought out that devious nature Theo had always known existed. As they grew up, Harry became stronger, sneakier - definitely a little crueler. But still, just as fucking stupid.

Theo loved him, honestly he was pretty sure some part of him always had, but  _ Merlin _ .

Had Pansy not forced that boy to go through hours and hours worth of meditation and battle planning sessions, Harry likely would have shot the killing curse at dumbledore halfway through fifth year.

Harry didn’t trust easy, especially not after third year. But he had always trusted Theo - both to guide him when he was unsure and to take care of his heart.

“I hate this.” He muttered, “I want Harry.”

“We’ll get him back.” pansy said, “That boy is far too stubborn to die, zombie apocalypse or not.”

Theo sighed.

He  _ knew _ Harry was fine. One of the benefits of magical bonding ceremonies meant that Theo had a vague awareness of Harry’s well being, always. He’d have probably gone spare with worry without it. Theo was just worried that it wouldn’t  _ stay _ that way.

Harry had a habit of diving into things without fully thinking it through. And while he certainly had the brains and the cunning for Slytherin, Harry was still a  _ lion _ \- his stubbornness would have him seeing through the most ridiculous of situations, it usually took something  _ big _ to get him to cut his losses.

Theo just  _ knew _ his husband was going to get himself in trouble, it was in his nature.

  
  


The screams had been expected.

Over the past few weeks since the statue of secrecy had collapsed, Harry had been having a jolly good time scaring the living shit out of muggles with his apparition. 

Even with zombies taking over, muggles still took a hell of a long time to come to terms with the fact that magic was real. A fact that Harry had abused in no less than thirteen separate situations where he’d found himself in some sort of altercation or another.

It wasn’t the nicest way to go about his days, but it sure as hell was entertaining.

“What the fuck?!” The wannabe alpha barked from his truck, levelling his gun at Harry and a still passed out Merle, “Who are you?”

Harry couldn’t help it, he snorted.

The man was just so unbelievably non-threatening, especially in light of their recent apocalypse. Harry barely even had to wave his hand to summon the rifle from his weak grip, earning a round of gasps and one shriek from the crowd.

“Harry Potter.” He answered easily.

Another gasp from the gathered group had Harry scanning it quickly. His eyes came to rest on an asain man standing at attention. 

Huh.

Apparently the group already  _ had _ a wizard.

“At ease, auror” Harry said, because no one else would have responded like that. “What’s your name?”

“Rhee. Glenn Rhee, sir.” The man hesitated, looking around at his confused companions before continuing at Harry’s nod, “I was with squadron Ironbelly four until about a month ago.”

“Hmm.” Harry nodded, “I’d heard that you lot had taken a heavy hit.”

Glenn swallowed thickly, “Four of our numbers were infected in the field, another seven were infected on the way back to base. We were released from service shortly before the floo network collapsed.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Harry softened his voice. That really was a tough hit, no matter that Harry’s own squad had taken similar damage, it was still a shit thing to go through. After a moment, Harry connected a few dots and perked up slightly, “Rhee, did you say? Any relation to Cassandra Rhee?”

Glenn blinked, nodding slowly, “My sister.”

Harry beamed. Cassandra Rhee was the head auror in America, and one of Harry’s closest friends both inside and out of work. Come to think of it, Cassandra had mentioned a little brother the last time they’d spoken. Unless he had his wires crossed, that would make Glenn fresh out of auror training. Poor lad.

“Cass is fine, by the way.” Harry smiled again when he saw the relief hit Glenn like a truck, “Last I heard from her she’d managed to get to Ilvermonry before the wards locked them in completely.”

“Oh thank Circe.” Glenn muttered.

“Would anyone like to explain what the  _ hell _ is going on?” The alpha guy butted in, Harry turned to look at him with the same unimpressed expression he’d had before he’d killed voldemort. The man flinched, Harry smirked.

_ Not so tough now. _

“I’m just having a conversation with one of my men.”

“But Glenn was a  _ pizza delivery boy. _ ” A woman said, she was clutching a child, body angled towards the man with the gun - Harry tilted his head, those two were  _ definitely _ fucking.

Instead of commenting on that, Harry turned to Glenn, “Really, Rhee? A pizza delivery boy?”

Glenn held up his hands, “I panicked! I couldn’t tell them I was with the no-maj police.”

“Mate,” Harry said, rolling his eyes and ignoring the women's incredulous whisper of  _ ‘no-maj?’ _ “The statue has fallen.”

“Oh…”

“Did you not get the owl?”

“No sir, I haven’t checked my mail since all this started.”

Harry sighed, turning back to the women, “He wasn’t a delivery boy. He was, well, a police officer.”

“ _ I _ was a police officer.” The guy bit out.

“The  _ magical _ police force.” Harry drawled in response, holding up a hand at the dozens of mouths already opening, “Yes, magic is real. Yes, we had our own police force. No, we did not cause the apocalypse. Best we could tell, it’s a mutated version of a virus that affected ants and beetles.”

The mouths shut.

“Mommy, Mommy it’s Harry  _ Potter _ !” A little girl bounded through the crowd.

Apparently this group had more magicals than he’d expected.

“Sophia!” A woman grabbed the girl around the waist before she could run right into Harry.

“But  _ mommy _ -”

“Hello there,” Harry said, kneeling down easily so that the girl wouldn’t have to strain her neck to look up at him, “Sophia, was it?”

Sophia nodded quickly, “You’re Harry Potter.”

“I am.” Harry chuckled softly.

“Wow.”

“Sophia.” The woman said after a moment, “Stop bothering Lord Peverell.”

“It’s fine.” Harry assured, ignoring the murmuring and tittering coming from the crowd at the mention of his title, “You’re about Ilvermorny age, aren’t you?” He turned back to Sophia for a moment before looking back at her mother, “What are you doing out here?”

“I’m twelve.” Sophia answered. Harry offered her a kind smile before tilting his head at the mother.

“She was homeschooled.”

“Ah.”

Homeschooling, before the apocalypse, wasn’t exactly unheard of, even less so in America. But it was a pity none-the-less. Harry wouldn’t wish this life, running and sleeping in short bursts because if you didn’t you’d likely wake up dead, on anyone but especially not on a child.

Harry stood up.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Sophia.”

“You - you too um,” She looked to her mother for a second before imitating a clumsy curtsy, “Lord Peverell.”

Harry bowed in return, and counted it as a victory when the mother gave him a half smile for his efforts.

“So what are you doing here, my  _ Lord _ ?” The alpha male - whose name Harry  _ still _ hadn’t gotten - said the word Lord like it was an insult. Harry didn’t bother resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Right as Harry was about to answer, the group who’d left Merle pulled up behind them.

Attention shifted towards the car and Harry took the opportunity to assess Merle’s condition. The man was still slumped over where Harry had left him, but his heart beat was coming back down to a normal level and his breathing was steady. Good. He’d be awake in a couple of minutes.

When Harry looked back up the woman he’d pegged as Alpha boy’s girlfriend was embracing white man no.2 from the rooftop. Huh. Guess he’d been wrong. He glanced at alpha boy, who looked about two seconds away from marching over there and punching the guy.

Maybe not.

“Merle?” 

Oh, they’d noticed Harry and Merle. Harry gave the lot of them his best unimpressed stare - which was pretty damn impressive, if he did say so himself - and almost smiled in approval when they shifted uncomfortably.

“Who are you?” White guy no.2 said.

“Who are  _ you _ ?” Harry fired back, “Actually, can i get some introductions for everyone,  _ please _ .” 

“I’m officer Rick Grimes, this is my wife Lori and my son Carl.” The other man said after a moment, “That’s my partner, Shane.” He pointed at Alpha boy and Harry almost scoffed in his face.

Harry shot Glenn, who was still standing close by his side, a glance and without a moment's hesitation the young auror listed off the names, ages, and short descriptions of every person in the camp.

Officer Grimes bristled more and more the longer Harry kept quiet. Glenn’s voice was too soft for anyone else to hear, barely a murmur that Harry only caught because he was using specialised hearing charms. 

Glenn finished speaking and Harry nodded.

“Harry Potter.” Harry offered after a moment.

“I thought you were a  _ lord _ .” Alpha boy - Shane - mocked.

Harry, for the upteenth time, rolled his eyes.

“Well if you want to be anal about it; I am  _ Lord _ Hadrian James Potter-Black-Peverell, former head auror of magical britain.”

Officer Rick laughed. And then he noticed that nobody else was laughing and he stopped, looking around at the rest of the groups slightly stunned, but not at all confused faces.

“Is he serious?”

Because he’s a little bit of a dick, Harry turned Rick’s entire outfit bright yellow.

“Okay,” Officer Rick said, “He’s serious.”

  
  


Elaine was going to kill someone.

She really, really was.

A week ago it was bad. She thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse but sweet Circe it  _ could. _

She hadn’t been able to go to class in three days, the weight of her peers' emotions would wrap around her and press into her mind the second she even got in range of a classroom, and it was only increasing in strength. 

By her calculations, she had barely a week before she wouldn’t be able to set foot in the castle. 

Who knew how long she had before it got too much for her. Before even the grounds weren’t safe. Before she was driven crazy by the panic, depression, and fear of an entire school.

Teddy and Dianna tried to help, but they could only do so much.

Elaine wished her dad was here.

“Elaine?”

She looked up to see the fluffy blonde locks of her favourite professor and aunt.

“Aunt Luna, Hi.”

“The heliopiths told me you were having a bad day.” She said and then sat down next to Elaine in the grass, paying no mind to the fact that her white robes were probably going to be covered in grass stains later.

“A bad week.”

“Hmm.” Luna said, “Your mind is open, like me, like your dad.”

“S’ not the same.” Elaine muttered.

“You know, half the time your dad got headaches back in school it wasn’t even Voldemort.”

“What?”

“He used to get aches. In his scar.” Luna brushed one finger down the left side of Elaine’s forehead, “Whenever Voldemort felt a strong emotion.”

“Because of their connection?”

Luna hummed in affirmation, “On anyone else, it would have been a slight discomfort, but the aches used to bring your dad to his knees. Do you know why?”

“Dad’s an empath.”

“Exactly.” Luna frowned then, just a little. Elaine realised that the absent look usually in her eyes had been absent for the entire conversation, “But that was only sometimes. We were at war, everyone was scared, all the time.”

Elaine waited patiently for Luna to continue.

“You know, I hate the stench of fear. But guilt. That was worse. The kids I went to school with, some of them were filled with it. Some days I couldn’t stand being inside Hogwarts.”

“Like me? Like This?”

“Like you.” 

“How did you stand it?”

“I didn’t.” Luna sighed, “I used to wander the forest when it all got too much.”

“I can’t do that.” Elaine huffed, shooting a glance to the barrier, where a line of undead creatures were mindlessly leaning and bashing against it.

“No. But I can teach you what I learned in the forest.”

Elaine snapped her head back to Luna’s, which was now adorned with a slight smirk.

“I couldn’t before. You weren’t ready. You are now.”

Part of Elaine wanted to snap at Luna. Argue that she’d been damn well ready to learn for weeks. But she understood more than most that Luna worked on a schedule that nobody else was able to comprehend, not even her.

One morning, when she was ten, Luna had floo’d in and refused to let anyone leave the Peverell manor for an hour. Her father was pissy about it, but dad listened to Luna. She’d found out a week later that the delay in their schedule led to her dad stumbling across a plot to blow up the floo network headquarters, an explosion he would have likely died in had he gone to work as usual.

So instead of getting angry, Elaine turned more fully to Luna and smiled. 

“I’d like to learn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go.   
> Thank you for reading <33

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading loves. BTW, if you haven't heard of them, go check out The Amazing Devils. they've got two albums on spotify and if your into the kind of music that makes you feel like a forest witch, they're perfect. Please give them a listen, they're independent artists. Also the main guy is Jaskier from the witcher and the main girl is a fae queen i stg.


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